


Where Peace is Found

by Technoblade



Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cybertron
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Transformers: Cybertron, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 04:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Technoblade/pseuds/Technoblade
Summary: Both Primus and Unicron had so declared it many centuries ago: The Universe would never remain intact so long as hatred remained between Light and Darkness. Both Optimus and Megatron are strangers to peace, but must find it within their new bond before it can exist for their home and people. [Companion Piece to "Balance"]





	Where Peace is Found

**Author's Note:**

> Needed a little Savory to go with that Sweet from earlier. Post-Cybertron AU, somewhere in the same time span as "Balance". Still self-indulgent.

So few seemed to recall the words that Primus had spoken many vorn before, his almighty voice booming through his spark chamber with a sense of finality and peace as only a handful gazed on in wonder. Light and Shadow could not exist without one another, he had proclaimed: without the equality that they brought to the universe, the very fabric of reality would give way to chaos and destruction. It was a realization that brought upon unsettling thoughts at the time, namely for those that bore the title of his Discipleship. Two Primes, one current and one far removed, had looked to each other uneasily: neither Unicron nor Megatron could be killed without disrupting the fragile landscapes of the cosmos.

It would take other, more personal approaches to ensure the safety of the denizens of their universe.

Until somewhat recently, Optimus had remained rather reclusive in his own corner of a far-off galaxy. With the space bridge project practically running itself, it had allowed for the former Commander to be alone with the one thing he had been fighting for his entire existence, but knew not how to use: peace. Quiet. Solitude. It was uncomfortable, most of the time, and had drawn out thoughts and feelings that he had purposely locked away for countless centuries, as to not disrupt the flow of combat and command. Regrets filled his soul, the weight of which was mirrored by the only company that could ever echo the extent of his pain and grief.

Pulled from the far reaches of the outer universe, Megatron was now always by his side. Well, almost always. There were times when they both needed their privacy, but for the most part, their time was spent searching: seeking out answers to questions that both had held so closely to their sparks for centuries, for a space that they could call their own, without the prying optics of the Cybertronian public on them at all times. It was likely that almost no one knew he was still alive, aside from a select few souls, but that was likely for the best. 

Solitude was something that they now needed, but did not know how to achieve without bloodshed and further pain. Instinctively, they simply sought out the presence of one another; it was the only constant in their lives that felt right. Before they could maintain the universe, the foundations of their own lives were in need of repairs.

In the great irony of the universe, it seemed that such connections would come through intimacy. Yet another field that both were severely lacking experience in. Trial and error, it seemed, would be the keys to their awkwardly-accepted union.

\---

The two heavily-armored mechs had seemingly melded together at the transformation seams. With one arm hooked behind his former foe’s back, Optimus used his free servo to brace against the berth, gripping into the heavy covers there. His hips rocked and ground against the other’s pelvic plating, where each movement was matched almost perfectly with his own. Desperation swelled within the receiving field, though not a word of such lust was spoken.

Despite everything, Megatron would _never_ beg.

Instead, with his arms wrapped around his beloved’s shoulders, the former tyrant held himself firmly in place beneath the attentive, pointed movements he so deeply craved. Teal optics dimmed to mere tinders as he allowed himself to be used, his engines growling in the only show of desperation that his soul dared give. Every thrust was met with an equally-heavy roll of his hips, with intricate calipers urging the other deeper within. It was as though Optimus’ designs had been forged for his valve alone: heavy ridges rubbed against densely-packed clusters of sensory nodes along the inner lining, while, upon retreat, micro-plates would seemingly flare and drag back across the sensitive systems with a near-maddening pressure.

Already the motions had sent him into two overloads during this particular session; had he believed in fate, Megatron might have considered this to be part of the “destined to be as one” prophecy that the gods had mentioned too frequently for his liking. Since he did not, this particular blessing was one that he would silently thank Optimus for: after all, what other reason would the Prime have for such modifications if not to please the only mech that should ever matter in his life?

While his mind wandered, one particularly hard thrust snapped him back into the moment. The former tyrant gasped as the blunt head of the spike met his ceiling node and remained seated there for much longer than before, with Optimus pulling him closer in turn. The Prime’s deep blue lipplates locked with his own in a passionate kiss, which was met with equal fervor from the recipient. Optimus was closing in on his second overload, more than likely, and wished to drag out his own pleasure for the time being. And, in much the same way that Megatron’s lust was set out on display rather than cried out, it would not be said aloud; in the heat of the moment, words were rarely necessary.

Neither mech was very vocal during their sessions, but within the bond that spiraled between their sparks, a symphony of life rang out. It was here, where two souls became one in a dance of light and devotion, that all was laid out in the open. With a private connection, Megatron could finally speak the words that his vocalizer refused to form: he loved this mech dearly, he was fighting the darkness within his soul for Optimus and for himself, and nothing would tear him away from the joy he could finally feel. On the other hand, his Prime took solace in the fact that he could finally get away with not speaking--the only thing his spark had to do was mirror what was given, and return it with acceptance, understanding, and love of his own. For both of their sakes, the speeches could be cast aside for pure, indescribable bliss.

Was this what they had been denied for so long? Not simply the intimacy of another, one that understood how deep and intricate the thought processes of the other were, but the freedom to explore themselves, each other, outside of the faulted designs set upon them by others? In this place there was neither Prime nor Tyrant, no images of gods: all that lay ahead was what they wished to become, and the journey of uncertainty that came along with it.

It was then that Megatron felt his impatience growing; Optimus was sometimes far too gentle with these sorts of things, simply grinding and bucking to stave off overload while his own charge remained stagnant. Between impassioned kisses, nips at his lip components, he managed to growl, “Get on with it… before I take it from you…”

That was all that Optimus needed to hear. His partner did not typically care whether their releases of energy matched up or not--this was for joint pleasure, after all. Even so, it seemed the polite thing to do. With a grunt, the Prime shifted to bury his faceplates in his bonded’s neck, where he nipped and bit at the cabling as his movements began again, this time with a renewed tenacity. His thrusts were harder now, which seemed to delight the mech beneath him: Megatron’s engines rumbled a satisfied purr, and he shifted his legs to allow for a bit more movement. This was where he could simply lay back end enjoy the rush of Optimus’ natural dominance.

Much to his annoyance, he had _not_ been the heavy hauler’s first berthmate. While he did not exactly consider Jetfire or Wing Saber to have been worthy of living, let alone knowing anything about their dear leader’s frame aside from how to combine with it, he knew there was at least some up-side to Optimus being more experienced than he. It allowed for a more patient partner as the other’s seal was first taken, knowing full well the discomfort that could come from it if they were not careful. Megatron had been uncertain at first, but knew that he had wanted it--which was when they had both learned just how much more he preferred to be the one on the receiving end of things. They switched off, on occasion, but in the depths of his spark the former warlord knew that, when it came to his frame, no one would ever know how he deeply he enjoyed for it to be held down and claimed by his deepest obsession.

In the solitude of their little spacecraft, the Prime would ravish him. A glossa greedily moving over and within his weeping, swollen valve, firm digits pumping, spreading, curling expertly in order to pull delighted, desperate cries from him. His valve's anterior node was a star player every time, and, when given particular attention, brought the former Decepticon closer to begging for more than anything else in life had. Experimenting had allowed for both of them to learn more about one another than conversation had ever revealed. Optimus enjoyed giving control over to someone else, as the weight of command had taken its toll on his mind, but to be bound, gagged, and sometimes choked throughout a rougher session would bring him overloads that nearly crashed his systems from sheer excitement and pleasure. Megatron, surprised by his own soul, had ultimately found that, at times, gentle shows of care made him nearly weep. Heavy interface was a joy of its own, but to be held close, to be kissed tenderly, to simply be loved without judgement by his other half was the greatest pleasure his spark could ever receive.

Not that he was ever going to deny himself the excitement of being forced through the berth by an angry Prime, though: a battlefield daydream turned awkwardly intimate role playing. Those were two **very** different types of joy, and neither one was inherently wrong. Just... special in their own distinct ways.

The servo behind his back had moved by then, shifting along with its match to move up under his shoulders: his favorite part of their ritual. Optimus smiled, kissing along his sparkmate’s chin before tucking back to work, using his newfound leverage to thrust harder and more efficiently. In return, the former tyrant’s optics flickered offline so that he could simply focus on the feelings that encompassed him: The pressure of his bonded atop him and inside of him, of the spike pushing him to his limits as it was fully sheathed in his valve. Again he would clench down upon it, catching the thick ribbing neatly before it flared once more and pulled back out, only to ram back in not a moment later. Such pure, unadulterated bliss finally pulled a deep groan of satisfaction from his vocoder, and he arched upward as much as his frame was allowed in a desperate attempt to somehow take in more.

Optimus felt his mate’s servos scrape across his back in response to his more aggressive movements, with digits slipping in and toying with whatever wires they could find at his transformation seams. Brought out from such ministrations were prickles of static, which jumped across his frame and through his EM field, building his charge to greater heights. Megatron, despite his initial claims of potentially being humiliated in submitting, had come a long way in expressing his desires for such attention. Delight bounced between them, with energies mixing and mingling both within their souls and throughout their frames, an electrical surge compounded by joint pleasure.

Within two more pointed thrusts, the Prime’s frame went rigid, sitting flush within Megatron as an overload surged through him. The plates on his spike had flared out to remain rooted inside, pulsing as fluids poured forth to fill every empty space they could. He felt Megatron’s legs lock around his aft to hold him there, rocking desperately until his own systems gave in--quite a bit more dramatically, though. Arcs of blue electricity cracked across his plating, flicking through his digits and into Optimus’ frame, dragging out his overload even longer. Around him the needy valve clamped down and twisted, as if to somehow wring him dry. Together they bucked and continued to grind, convulsing through their mutual overloads as though it would be their last moments together.

And then, at long last, their crescendo came to its close, with both Prime and his appointed Protector slowly slumping down into a heap on their berth.

Neither could recall just how long they remained that way, clinging desperately to one another as their frames cooled, with the only sounds in the air a mixture of fans, popping metal, and the low background hum of the ship. Megatron forced his optics online after a short time, peering through the low light to view Optimus still atop him, exhausted, but clearly more than satisfied. One clench was all it took to tell him that his mate had not yet removed himself, either; that was amusing, somehow. “Mmm… Prime… Convoy... whichever you are, right now.” Lazily, his servo drifted to brush his mate’s faceplates, which brought the golden optics he so deeply adored online.

“Y… yes? Are you a-alright?” His vocoder had reset, clearly, sounding static-laced and exhausted. Optimus had not yet moved, other than to tilt his helm upward to better see his other half.

“Don’t… be so foolish,” came a gruff reply, accompanied by yet another stroke across silver face guards and soft blue plating. “Hmm… never mind.”

“No, no--what is it?”

A sigh, and then Megatron did something that the Prime found peculiar: unprompted, he kissed the side of Optimus’ helm before continuing to rub at his back. After-care? For him? “Perhaps, my dear, I just wanted to see that look you always get… when you are too exhausted to say anything… ugh. Sappy? Inspiring? You know: so very... _you_.”

Optimus fell silent, which unsettled the former tyrant for a moment, until he followed the other's gaze toward something unseen between them. Hesitant to pull too far apart, Optimus shifted ever so slightly atop his mate in order to slip his servo between them, where his digits lingered for a long while. Megatron's optics flashed with surprise as he felt the other's touch slide along the deep scar that _Rhisling_ had left on his chassis, piercing his his spark chamber and exiting out through his back. No words were spoken, but the weight of the gesture was not lost upon him; the former tyrant leaned his helm against his mate's once more, a quiet show of acceptance. It was behind them now: he would never allow himself, nor anyone else, to ever bring that pain upon the universe again. The punishment had fit the crime.

They recharged in that same state, still covered in each other’s fluids, but with the additional pleasure of their spark chambers pressed together. A harmonized melody was sung between their souls as they held so tightly to one another, desperate in their dreaming states to remain close, almost afraid that to awaken would mean the end of a lifetime. Such fears did not come to pass, however: as the time to rise came and went, they found that no one had come in the night to spirit away either soul.

What a ridiculous thought it had been--one that they then realized had, indeed, crossed both their minds in an unwarranted moment of fear. It was enough to bring the two to joyous, almost childish laughter as they finally pulled apart, sounds that only grew in volume and exaggeration as they looked over one another’s frames to see numerous paint transfers and awkward dents. It made cleanup a delightful time spent together, ending in a slow, passionate session in the cramped washracks. Neither one had much of an interface drive left, but they had found that simply kissing and petting one another was more than enough to show deep care and devotion. This was the start of a new life, one that they had both been denied by fate: a life with one simple desire, where they were allowed to feel joy despite their pain.

Perhaps, they both thought, finding balance and peace for themselves would not be as difficult as their fears made them believe it would be for so long. When it came to thinking of Cybertron, however, they both agreed that intimacy of a different sort would be preferable to pave that proverbial road to unity. But until that moment arrived, both Prime and Protector alike could stand together, confident in the knowledge that it was no longer such a daunting and impossible task.

So long as Light and Shadow remained as one, never again could Chaos claim victory.


End file.
